


The Shot at the Target

by Joanne_Barcia



Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Bones Finale, Gen, The Secret in the Siege
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-12 23:59:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joanne_Barcia/pseuds/Joanne_Barcia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate ending to the season finale: A second too late, and the real target goes down. A second too late, and they may just lose this time; and Pelant might just win.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, that finale (aside from actually ripping my heart out of my body) pretty much gave me a perfect opportunity to write some Sweets-whump. Please be on the lookout for any characterization errors, because that is a weakness of mine. Enjoy the story, and please let me know what you think!

He blinks and it's over. Just like that. They've lost.

Or rather, that is the voice in the back of his head talking. That is the sick feeling of fear talking; and for a moment, he's too shocked to move. But as the adrenaline kicks in, he finds himself automatically wrapping his hands around his gun and aiming for the blonde haired girl on the other side of the street and pulling the trigger without a second thought. She goes down and she stays down. It's not exactly a critical hit, having only popped her shoulder, but it wasn't meant to be. As much as he'd like it to be, he's an FBI agent. The job comes with a clear-cut set of morals.

Not that he particularly wants to follow them right about now.

Not that the girl he just shot has any of her own.

It takes about a second and a half for him to compose himself, and then he's running through the cars again, processing everything that just happened in such a short period of time.

Running through the cars and skidding to a stop on the sidewalk – one minute.

Spotting that girl, carrying her bag that has to have her gun in it – three seconds.

Noticing that Sweets is standing outside of his car, closer to the girl than he is to Booth, and calling his name as loud as he could – two seconds.

Sweets turning to face him, with his back now to that girl, who is now cocking a gun in his direction; and Booth raising his own gun instinctually – two seconds.

Sweets turning back toward the sudden sound of the girl's gun, pulling his own out of its holster, only for the girl to shoot and for that gun to fall to the asphalt beside him – one second.

Booth blinked, and now it has to be over. If the feeling in his gut is anything to go by, it has to be over. And if it's not, then that's as close to a miracle as he's probably going to get.

"Out of the way, out of the way!" he's shouting at few bystanders that have gathered around and are suddenly frantic and wondering what to do. He's not even trying to be polite about it as he shoves his way through the small crowd and kneels down beside Sweets, who's on the ground with his back against his car. Sweets, who's now sporting a bullet hole through the abdomen. Sweets, who's surrounded by a small puddle of his own blood, eyes closed, with even more blood slowly dripping down from his lips.

"Hey, hey, hey," Booth says, lightly slapping his hand against Sweets' cheek. "Come on…"

When there's no response, Booth begins a quick check, running on auto-pilot while still trying his damned best to stay alert. He shoves his first two fingers against Sweets' neck, a quick check for a pulse, which is there. Not exactly the strongest it could be, but still there. Next, he pulls off Sweets' necktie in an attempt to make it easier to breath. Finally, he pushes away the suit jacket and checks the wound. He notes a clean entry, just to the right of his center. He carefully reaches around and presses his hand to Sweets' back, only slightly pleased to find a lack of an exit wound. The bullet, he's guessing, probably went through the stomach and is stuck there, which probably gives him about fifteen minutes or so to find help. In the meantime, blood is dripping down Sweets' front and spreading much faster than Booth would like. He tries his best to press his hand to the wound and apply pressure without forcing more blood out.

All of this – less than thirty seconds.

Now he's turning to the crowd, still crouched down beside his friend, shouting for someone to call an ambulance. He yells out twice before he realizes something. Or, rather, a few things.

First: Phone service is cut off. If anyone has a chance of making a call, it's by payphone. And the payphone he used to call Brennan earlier is at least a block and a half away.

Second: They are surrounded by cars. Even if someone manages to call, it would be far too difficult and would take up far too much time for paramedics to reach them.

Third: There was a car accident further up the road. This is actually a good thing, he realizes. If there's even a small chance of an ambulance being out, it would be up by the crashed cars.

The problem: getting him there. It's not exactly a far walk; however, with a man who is in serious danger of bleeding out, trying to get the two of them there would be both difficult and insanely risky. However, he doesn't exactly have much of a choice at the moment.

So, he gently pulls Sweets' arm up and around the back of his neck and slowly stands. He stops about halfway up, only for a second, as he hears a shocked, pained gasp in his ear.

"Booth –"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Booth says, trying to support Sweets while keeping one hand over the wound. It's not working, and he's suddenly the most grateful man in the world when a stranger from the crowd steps forward and supports Sweets' other side. They stand completely, and there's a small whimper from the man in the center. Booth looks back down at the wound and notices that there's more blood seeping out – just the opposite of what they need.

Booth cusses softly and turns his head to the stranger, whose eyes are full of concern. "We're pulling on it," he says, and then looks back down at Sweets.

"Look, I know it hurts," he explained. "But you gotta help us out, here. Can you try walking with us? I promise, it's not that far."

There's a small, barely visible nod.

"Okay," Booth says, then turns to the third man. "There should be an ambulance up ahead."

The stranger nods and they start walking. To their slight surprise, Sweets manages to take a few steps with them. He makes it about ten feet before his steps are demoted to shuffles, and maybe five more feet before his feet stop moving altogether and Booth and the other man find themselves dragging his feet behind them. They stop walking as soon as they realize.

Booth gently nudges Sweets' shoulder with his own, not wanting to remove his hand from the bullet hole. "Hey, Sweets, come on. Stay with us, here."

When there's no response, Booth tries again. "Sweets?"

Again, nothing. The stranger looks up at Booth. "Shock?" he suggests, voice shaking only slightly.

Booth nods as he takes note of the beads of sweat forming on Sweets' forehead and pauses to check for a pulse again, this time finding it to be far too quick and far too weak.

He forces his face into a stoic expression, determined not to show how scared he really is. And he is scared, because nothing about this situation is even remotely good. Because this is the closest he's actually come in a long time to having someone close to him die. And he'll be damned if it happens today. He'll be damned if it's Sweets.

He thinks back to his last conversation with everyone at the lab and continues walking, carefully trying his best to rouse his friend as he goes.

"Come on, Sweets," he says. "You didn't hear me before, but I made everyone a promise. I promised them you weren't going to die today, and you know how I don't go back on my promises. But I need your help with this one, okay? Just stay with us for a few more minutes, and we'll all be golden."

Booth glances ahead, noticing a few flashing lights in the distance. Looking closer, he notices that there are two paramedics rushing down the sidewalk, in their direction. He figures someone must have flagged them down, and he's relieved. Then he looks back at Sweets, who is far paler now than he was before, and that relief is gone.

"Just a few more steps. We've got you. I promise."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The lab is almost completely silent, as it's been for the past thirty minutes, now. Nobody has heard anything from anyone since Brennan's phone call with Booth, and that lack of communication was honestly scaring them. On one hand, cell service is down. It's entirely possible that, with everything going on, no one had a chance to get to a phone. It's entirely possible that everything is fine. Booth and Sweets could be on their way home right now, with the shooter in custody. They could even walk into the lab at any moment. It's possible.

But then, it's also possible that everything is not fine. They could both be dead. They could be separate, alone, and dead.

Currently, the rest of the team is in Angela's office. The computer command that was sent to the shooter is still blinking on the screen, yet no one is paying any attention to it. Instead, each person is alternating between pacing and sitting on the couch, staring into space.

No one talks about what is happening. No one talks about Pelant. No one talks about Booth and Brennan's engagement. No one even talks about Booth at all, or Sweets.

Somehow, the silence seems to be the loudest thing in the room; and no one has the courage to break it just yet.

So, it comes as no surprise that it's a cell phone ringing that finally makes a sound. Everyone in the room turns to Brennan, whose cell phone is in her hand in a second.

She checks to see who's calling before answering, and she is visibly relieved.

"Booth!"

The group breathes a collective sigh of relief. They're all smiling, arms around each other, and gathering around Brennan, waiting to hear more. However, to their surprise, Brennan's smile slowly falls, and she blinks a few times.

"What?" she asks. Her eyebrows are furrowed as she abruptly stands "I don't…"

"What's going on?" Cam asks, relief suddenly gone. The others are also staring at Brennan, suddenly afraid again.

Brennan moves the phone slightly away from her face and she turns to the others. She hesitates, but forces out the words she doesn't want to say.

"Booth was too late. Sweets was shot."

Everyone is standing now, all worried faces and the need to hear more. The silence is back, and after a minute of Booth relaying everything to Brennan, she hangs up her phone and takes a deep breath.

Everyone is staring, now, and she nods her head minutely.

"The girl shot Sweets just as Booth was raising his gun. Booth shot the girl, but…"

"It was too late. She'd already shot him," Hodgins finishes, hands shaking in fists by his sides. Brennan nods.

"Is he…?" Hodgins continues, unable to finish but making a small gesture with his free hand.

"No. Booth said he was just loaded into an ambulance," Brennan answers with a sad smile. "However, with all of the cars in the streets, it will take longer to get to the nearest hospital."

"So it could go either way," Angela says sadly, eyes dropping to the floor.

The room is silent again, and that's the way it stays for a long while, with unspoken fears and worries hanging in the open spaces.


	2. Chapter 2

It is a warm day outside, with the sun out and the air comfortable. The sky is clear. The sun isn't too strong. It's a perfect day, if there ever was one; as far as the weather goes, at least. As far as everything else goes, it's not such a perfect day. Far from it, in fact, with the agitated drivers stuck in traffic for hours, the major disruptions in communications, and the shootout that happened between Harding and Avenue H.

So, not exactly a perfect day. It's been long, though, and it's still far from over. In fact, Booth is starting to get the feeling that it will never end.

Currently, he's leaning against the hood of his car, which is parked in the lot just outside the hospital. He's washed the blood off his hands and changed into a spare suit that's been in his car for months without having been worn. It's funny, he thinks, because he accidentally left that suit in there after getting it cleaned and never bothered to take it out, not even thinking about the possibility that he would need it later. It came in handy, really.

He's not exactly focusing. He's trying to, but he can't. This entire situation is too much like what happened to Bones, too much like what happened to Vincent, for him to really focus on it. And the worst part is the fact that this is all Pelant's plan. Pelant, the same man who separated Booth from his family. The same man who placed a mutilated body in Angela and Hodgin's home, was in their son's room. The same man who planned for Sweets to die.

Every time Booth starts to think about it, he gets angry. He's angry because Pelant could win this time, and also scared. The stakes are high, now, and the possibilities devastating. Booth can't lose another friend, not one so close to him.

Somewhere in the back of his head, he knows he can't. If Sweets dies, he'll kill Pelant himself. Booth wonders for a moment if, perhaps, he's become rasher, more hostile, since the Pelant case began. Then he realizes that it doesn't matter. Pelant has crossed more lines than Booth thought existed, and Booth knows that if he can't stop Pelant eventually, he's going to lose everything. Somehow, he'll lose everything.

He will stop Pelant, though. No matter what, he will.

It's that thought, that unspoken promise that keeps him calm. The sun is shining down on him, the sky is clear, and he's completely calm. In spite of everything going on, he's completely calm.

And he'll try his best to stay that way.

\-----------------------------

The team waits only ten minutes before leaving the lab. They want to make sure they don't get in the way, just in case the ambulance has trouble getting around the traffic. They just can't wait any longer. There's something that feels wrong about staying at the lab any longer when one of their own is shot.

That's why they left the Jeffersonian the second the ten minutes were up. They filed into their cars and are now speeding through the streets, trying their best to heed the traffic laws. They all avoid Harding and Avenue H, however, as if there is some unspoken agreement not to drive there; at least not yet. Not that they would be able to drive on those streets anyway, though. The cars were still only starting to clear out, as the lights and signals only just returned a few minutes ago.

Of course, the police vehicles and the second ambulance for the shooter, Anna, who is still at the scene, only add to the traffic situation.

Angela, sitting in the passenger seat of Hodgins' car, stares at the flashing lights of the ambulance in the distance, thoughts on the girl who pulled the trigger. Now, Angela is a forgiving person. It's not exactly in her nature to hate. But she hates that girl. Somewhere in the back of her head, there's a small voice reminding her that Anna didn't choose to shoot Sweets of her own accord, that she was manipulated by Pelant. She ignores that voice. She hates that girl for shooting Sweets, and she hates Pelant for making her do it.

Well, she hates Pelant for more reasons than that. She hates him for invading her home, touching her child, taking her best friend away for months – everything that he did to them. She thinks, if there's ever a criminal she would see dead, it would be Pelant. Perhaps – and she almost feels guilty thinking it – Pelant deserves to die.

But who is she to decide what people deserve? It's not her decision. What is her decision, though, is what she thinks and what she feels and what she knows.

And she thinks Pelant deserves to die, just like she knows Sweets does not.

It's perfectly clear to her, how things should be. So she focuses on that. She imagines things just as they should be, and that's how she spends the rest of the drive.

Imagining.

\--------------------------

Tap, tap, tap-taptap. Tap, tap, tap-taptap. Tap, tap…

What is tha-?

It's his foot. Right.

Upon noticing his shoe tapping against the pavement, Booth pushes himself off the hood of his car. He swings his arms once, twice, and shifts his weight from side to side as he stares back at the hospital doors. He told the receptionist he'd be outside and to let him know as soon as she heard anything new about Sweets. But what if she forgot? There could be something important going on, and he wouldn't know because he's outside. Maybe he should go back in…

No. No, he's just getting restless, and he knows it. Everything's fine, he tells himself. Well, not fine. But fine.

Besides – it's only been about half an hour since the ambulance arrived. News so soon, he figures, would be a bad thing. In fact, news so soon could only mean one thing, really.

Booth cringes when he pictures it: a nurse stepping outside, clipboard in hand, to tell him that Sweets is dead. Passed away during surgery, she'd say. She'd have a sad look on her face while she apologizes for his loss. She'd ask if there's any next of kin, about a will, about all the legal things the living are left to deal with after the dead have left the building. She'd–

No. No, she wouldn't do any of that. She wouldn't do any of that because Sweets is not dying today. Sweets is not dying today, or tomorrow, or next week, or any time soon. Booth said so himself.

And like he said: He doesn't go back on his promises.


	3. Chapter 3

Booth finally remembers to make a call once he has recounted the events of the day to the rest of the team and everyone is all set to wait for a few hours. (Because, of course, any news so soon would be bad news, so they're all hoping to wait for a long while.) He doesn't exactly have the number he needs in his phone, so he does a quick search online before dialing and hopes he has the right cell number. The person on the other end picks up after three rings, and Booth waits with anticipation to see if he got it right.

It turns out he does have it right, and he's soon speaking to Janet McCarthy, one of Sweets' two new roommates. He introduces himself as Seeley Booth, expecting some form of recognition, but when there's none, he reintroduces himself as "Mr. Sweets" with a short huff of annoyance. If he sounds rude, he blames it on the stress, the length of the day. He doesn't dwell on that for long, though, because there's a drawn out oh from the other end of the phone, a quick apology, and pleasant what's up? that quickly remind him of why he called in the first place.

Booth spends the next few minutes explaining what he can. He spares the details, doesn't mention Pelant at all, and sums it up in a few quick sentences. Sweets was shot, he tells her. They were on a case. Someone was armed, and that someone shot him. That's all he says about that. They're at GWU Hospital, he says, so if she and the other girl want to –

Profuse, sincere apologies from the other end. As it turns out, Janet and Chrissy – that's the other girl's name – are away. They're in Michigan, one for a high school reunion and the other visiting family. They honestly can't make it back for at least another week, but they sound concerned enough and send best wishes and all of that. And that was that.

As Booth hangs up his phone and goes to sit back down, he thinks about those girls. He thinks about how, even though Sweets is sharing a living space with them, they really aren't family. They're not even close to having that sort of relationship. Friends, he thinks. Definitely friends, but not much more than that.

The image of a college student sharing a dorm room with his friends entertains Booth for a moment, and he finds himself smirking, amused. How old is Sweets now, twenty seven? Twenty eight in a few months? Regardless, Booth thinks, he's still just a kid. Says the forty-four year old man, a small voice deadpans in the back of his head. But still. Sweets is really just a kid.

He's a kid who's too close to dying right now, Booth reminds himself. He's a kid who doesn't deserve to die.

Booth drops down in a chair next to Brennan and glances at her. One of her elbows is resting against the armrest of her chair, and her head is resting on her knuckles. One of her legs is also shaking, bouncing up and down, as she glances up at Booth and lifts the corner of her mouth up in a halfhearted smile to acknowledge him.

Angela sits on Brennan's other side, with an empty chair separating the two. Hodgins is right next to Angela, and they are both sitting silently with their legs crossed. Angela is leaning towards Hodgins, tilting her head so it just rests on his shoulder, and Hodgins' arm is wrapped around her shoulders.

Cam stands off to the side, leaning against another wall with a cell phone pressed to her ear. She's saying things like I'm sorry and Maybe another time, and it doesn't take a genius to understand that Arastoo is on the other end and that a date is being broken. (And he doesn't mind. He understands completely, of course. He sends good wishes.)

After a few minutes, she hangs up. She sits back down in a chair facing the others and she just glances at all of them, eyes darting from one person to the next and back again. That's all she can bring herself to do, just look at everyone; and everyone seems to have the same feeling and a sort of unspoken understanding of each other. There are no words. There's no regret being voiced by anyone, no anger being shown. There is only shock, hidden underneath five blank faces.

There's shock because how in the world could we have been too late? There's shock because none of us could have seen this coming. There's shock because he is one of our own, and there's shock because he might die today.

There are no words, but thoughts. Thoughts are everywhere, and more suffocating than words could possibly be.

\----------------------

Someone comes out into the lobby about an hour later, just after most of the group closed their eyes for _just a second_. An older doctor in pale green scrubs with wrinkles around her eyes and blonde hair pulled into a tight bun steps over to the group.

She looks at Booth, who is the person the receptionist told her to talk to first, but then turns to Brennan once she realizes that Booth's eyes are closed and his head is leaning back against the wall. Brennan is the only one who is completely awake, but it still takes her a second to realize that the doctor is finally coming to speak with them.

The doctor lifts a hand and gestures toward Booth and the others in the room, giving Brennan a soft smile and a tiny nod. Brennan stands from her chair with only half a smile and goes to shake Booth's shoulder and nudge the other three people awake. It takes less than ten seconds for everyone to wake up, and soon they are all huddled around the doctor, waiting to hear what she has to say.

"Well," the doctor says with a giddy grin. "Sorry to keep you waiting, but I do think we've succeeded today."

A collective sigh of relief, a hug or two, and a few loud cheers. There's no one else in the room, so no one feels ashamed of the volume. Besides – Sweets isn't dying today. They can cheer as much as they want to, and they can be as loud as they want to be, people in the room or not.

The doctor smiles and waits until they are finished before continuing to explain everything. Their attention is soon solely on her as she speaks.

"Alright, now, first I want to talk about the shot."

A suddenly sober group of friends, watching as the doctor sits down in a chair and each doing the same. They suddenly realize that she is not carrying a clipboard or anything with her. She remembers everything that needs to be said, and that fact is honestly a little heartwarming. It's the most sentimental thing they've seen all day, to be honest.

"The shot was directly to the stomach," she says, drawing a circle around her own stomach with her finger as a visual. "And the bullet was stuck inside. We had to stabilize him first, which took longer than I would have liked, to be honest, but after he was stabilized we worked on getting the bullet out. Took awhile, but it's out now. One of our major problems, though, is the organ damage to the stomach and the surrounding organs."

She continued to speak as the people around her grimaced.

"It's just because the bullet punctured the stomach, so the stomach acid leaked into the abdominal cavity and damaged the area. That should heal fine, though, eventually. We just need to watch for any infection and make sure he doesn't develop peritonitis because of the acid burns. We have him on medication to reduce the chance of getting sick and on sedatives to make sure he doesn't aggravate anything. We're also starting a transfusion to continue replacing the blood that was lost."

She closes her eyes and thinks for a moment before standing.

"Okay, I think that should be it. If you have any questions, I'm here for about another hour or so. We change shifts at eight o'clock."

Everyone stands and shakes the doctor's hand, one by one, each expressing gratitude. She turns and starts to walk away, but Booth steps forward.

"Wait!" he says, and the doctor turns back around. "So, can we see him?"

"Oh!" the doctor exclaims, walking right back to the group. "I'm so sorry, that was the one thing that slipped my mind. Yes you can, he's in the ICU right now." She gives the group a tentative glance. "However, and I'm very sorry about this, we do have a policy of only two visitors at a time. I mean, I suppose I can ask if we can make an exception, but I can't guarantee anything…."

"No, no, that's fine," Angela says, looking around at everyone. "I mean, of course I want to stay, but-" she gestures at Hodgins. "- Michael's still at day care, and we're supposed to pick him up at seven."

Everyone looks around at each other, Hodgins nodding and agreeing with her, and Brennan turning toward Booth for a second.

"Christine," she says with sudden realization. "She's still there, too, I should -"

Angela interrupts, placing a hand on her best friend's shoulder. "I can take her for tonight. Don't worry about it. You and Booth should stay."

"You should," Cam says, nodding her head. "I think it's pretty obvious, you and Booth are the closest with him. You should stay."

Booth stares, almost shocked. He isn't going to deny what was said, because somewhere in the back of his head, he knows it's true. And he does want to stay, of course. It simply shocks him how easily everyone can come to that decision. He says nothing, though. He looks to Brennan, who is staring gratefully at Angela.

"You're sure you can take Christine?" she asks, hesitant. She's not hesitant to leave. Just the opposite. Like Booth, she also wants very much to stay. She just doesn't want to put more work on Angela. Truthfully, she'd do the same with Michael; and she doubts it will be much trouble for Angela to take Christine. Still, it's polite to ask. She can be polite.

Angela smiles, pulling Brennan into a hug. "Of course," she says. "Don't worry about it."

Five minutes, a few more hugs, and a few handshakes later, Booth and Brennan are the only ones left. They turn toward the doctor, who has been waiting patiently for them.

She smiles and gestures toward the reception desk in the corner of the room. "Alright, now, you two just need to show your IDs to the receptionist. She'll give you your passes, and then you can go see your friend in room three-sixteen, just around the corner from where the elevator lets out. I do need to get back to make my rounds, now, but I'm glad I got to come speak with you."

Booth and Brennan each thank her again, for everything. They thank her for her kindness, the care she's showing. Most of all, though, they thank her for saving Sweets.

"You know," the doctor says. "He's very lucky. I don't know if you know, but most people who are shot in the stomach don't make it past fifteen minutes. It took twenty for the ambulance to arrive; and add that twenty to the time it took to get him to the ambulance! We've already got some doctors and nurses in the ICU calling him a miracle. And they're not wrong."

She smiles softly again, as she seems to have been doing all evening.

"I'm just starting to think that that's not the only reason why he's so lucky."


	4. Chapter 4

They walk in slowly, hesitant at first. Once they pass through the doorway, they're suddenly greeted by off-white walls on all sides. They're greeted by a constant, monotone beeping of a heart monitor. They're greeted by computer monitors all over the room. They're greeted by the scent of cleaners and latex gloves. They are not greeted, though, by Sweets. Sweets, who would normally be greeting them the second they enter the room, is fast asleep in a hospital bed, hooked up to various machines.

Not asleep, Brennan reminds herself. Medically sedated. There's a big difference.

There are two needles sticking out of Sweets' left arm. One is leading to an IV labeled with the name of the sedative used to keep him asleep, and the other is leading to an IV of medication. Brennan, after giving these IV bags a quick, cursory inspection, sits down in one of the two chairs against the wall on the right side of the bed.

Booth remains at the doorway for a few long moments. He looks at her, looks at Sweets, looks at her watching Sweets. Her face is calm, caught between happiness and concern because her friend is alright, but he's not completely alright. She is leaning forward in her chair, resting her elbows on her knees and her face on her knuckles. After staring at Sweets for a few more seconds, she looks up at Booth and gestures with her head for him to come into the room.

Booth obeys, stepping into the room with a few long strides. He moves so he's standing just next to Brennan's chair, leaning against the wall. He doesn't really want to sit just yet, and he takes a few more moments to just look at Sweets, just as Brennan did.

He's not disappointed with what he sees, that's certain. He's not thrilled, either, but he keeps reminding himself that Sweets is alive and not dead, and that somehow makes it easier to take in.

For instance, Booth notices right away that Sweets is pale. However, he also realizes that he's not as pale as he was when Booth and that kind stranger were carrying him to the ambulance. There's a huge difference, one that he's pleased with.

He glances up at the monitors and decides that everything seems normal enough. Somewhat satisfied, he sits down next to Brennan and leans back in his chair. He puts his arm around Brennan's shoulder and gives her a light smile.

"It'll be fine. You'll see."

"I know it'll be fine," she answers with a small nod. "I just… I keep thinking about everything that happened today. And I wonder; if we were a little faster, if we realized Sweets was the target sooner, could we have stopped it? And I don't know the answer. But then I realize that it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because it happened and now we have to make the best of it."

"You're right," Booth agrees, leaning back in his chair. "But you're always right, so… not much is new."

Brennan chuckles quietly, but doesn't answer.

Before any of them can say anything more, a young looking girl walks into the room, followed by the doctor that came out to speak with them earlier. The young girl, perhaps in her late teens, has her brown hair pulled back in a tight bun, in a similar fashion to the older doctor. She is carrying a transfusion bag and is looking nervously from the doctor, to the patient, to Booth and Brennan, and back again.

The doctor looks up at Booth and Brennan and smiles brightly.

"Hello again!" she says. "As I said earlier, we just need to hook up a transfusion to replace some blood that wasn't replaced during surgery."

She gestured to the girl.

"This is Rachel. She's doing her senior internship with us, and if it's alright with you, I was going to have her set up the transfusion."

Booth nods his head. "I don't see a problem with it. Bones?"

"Go right ahead," Brennan says with a smile. "I remember my first internship. It was very exciting. It wasn't in a hospital, though, and I just watched forensic scientists study remains. I didn't actually get to do anything. If you're being allowed to perform some basic duties, it must mean you're very promising."

The girl looked at Brennan gratefully, her face slightly flushed with embarrassment.

"Thank you very much, ma'am," she says, looking down at the floor after she speaks. "Your internship sounds very interesting."

"As does yours. Good luck with it," Brennan answers.

"Thanks."

She steps over to the left side of Sweets' bed and hangs the transfusion bag on the metal pole that the other bags are hanging on. The doctor watches as she reaches for a clean tube, attaches one end to the bag and one to a clean needle, and reaches for Sweets' left arm. She stops, slightly uncertain.

Suddenly, she looks embarrassed. "Um… Dr. Curran? There are already two other IV needles in, and I'm not sure…. Is three too many in one arm?"

The doctor walks over to her and looks. "No, three is fine. You just have to make sure you're leaving enough space in between them. About two, two and a half inches. Like, you can just follow the vein. Insert it… right about here."

She carefully inserts the needle and breathes a sigh once she's finished.

Dr. Curran claps her hands twice. "Great! That was perfect." She turns to Booth and Brennan, who have been watching with interest. "Thank you both. Have a good evening, if I don't see you."

Both ladies exit the room, leaving Booth and Brennan alone again. Well, alone with Sweets. Still, that's mainly alone.

The room is nearly silent, with the exception of the monitors beeping around the room.

Booth sighs and leans back in his chair again. "I'm going to catch a few minutes."

"Okay," Brennan answers, her eyes falling and remaining on Sweets, her face blank and calm.

Booth closes his eyes and falls asleep again after a few minutes.

\------------------------------

He hasn't been asleep for half an hour when he's suddenly woken up.

"Booth! Booth, get up!" he hears Brennan say. He feels her shaking him awake, and then he doesn't anymore. He opens his eyes to find her no longer sitting next to him, but standing by the right side of Sweets' bed, staring up at the monitors.

"Bones? What's going on?" he says, standing up and walking up to her.

"His vitals just started crashing. No alarms went off, nothing, but look," she points up at the monitors, which don't seem to realize that there's a problem. Or, if they do, they don't show it. Brennan continues, "His breathing is repressed far below normal, he's developed a fever…"

She catches a glimpse of Sweets' left arm, which is now bright red, a rash obvious on his skin.

"It's the blood," she says, looking up at the transfusion bag, which is only a quarter empty. "Call a nurse!"

Brennan reaches for the call button, which is attached to the side of the bed, while Booth rushes to the doorway to flag someone down. Brennan, without exactly realizing it, places her hand on Sweets' shoulder and squeezes. It's a comforting gesture.

Booth reenters the room, followed by Dr. Curran. They both rush back to Sweets, and the doctor begins a frantic examination.

Brennan fills her in as she goes.

"No alarms went off," she repeats to the doctor. "It just looked like he was having trouble breathing, so I looked at the monitors. Breathing is too suppressed, he has developed a fever, and there's a rash on his left arm, starting by the transfusion needle. It has to be the blood."

Curran looks down at Sweets' arm and notices how red his skin is. She studies the monitors for one more second before reaching for the needle.

"That doesn't make sense," she mutters, pulling the IV out of Sweets' arm anyway. She turns her head toward the doorway. "Rachel!"

The young intern does not appear immediately, and, frustrated, Curran yells out, "Someone, find Rachel!"

A male doctor in the hallway hears this and rushes past the door with a quick, "Got it." About thirty seconds later, the girl is rushing through the doorway, profusely apologizing for her absence. As she enters, Curran is reaching for different pieces of equipment and moving things around as fast as she can, trying to make room by the left side of the bed.

"Rachel," she says, tossing the intern a set of keys. "I want you to run as fast as you can to the supply room on the second floor. Grab an oxygen machine and bring it back here, okay?"

There's a quick "Yes, ma'am," and she's gone again.

The doctor takes thirty seconds and stares back up at the monitors. "His heart rate and blood pressure dropped dramatically," she mumbles, almost to herself. "If it was the blood, then they should pick up again now that the transfusion stopped. If it was the blood. …Maybe it was AHTR, but so big an error is extremely unlikely…"

Brennan and Booth are staring at her, then looking back and forth between her, Sweets, and the monitors. Everything going on right now is confusing, but they're trying their best to follow it all. Brennan keeps her hand on Sweets' shoulder the entire time, not paying it any attention. It's automatic.

Rachel comes back into the room, rolling a square grey oxygen machine behind her. She helps Curran plug it in and the doctor is eventually able to get it running and place a cannula by Sweets' nose. Another glance at the monitors tells her that Sweets' breathing is not exactly returning to normal just yet, but it is improving. She'll take that.

She sighs, relieved. "Okay, Rachel. Pay attention now."

She looks at her intern and then at Booth and Brennan, indicating that she'd like for them to pay attention as well. She addresses all three of them when she speaks.

"I believe this was an acute hemolytic transfusion reaction, or AHTR. This means that the blood transfusion we set up was rejected."

"But blood's not normally rejected, unless -"

"Unless we hooked up the wrong blood type," Dr. Curran finishes Rachel's sentence with a grave expression on her face.

Booth tenses from where he's standing next to Brennan. He can't help becoming slightly angry at the idea that someone could have made such a huge error. Sweets was already in bad shape when he was brought into the hospital, and if the staff is making errors that could damage him further, then Booth is going to have to yell at someone. In retrospect, he thinks, maybe letting the intern help set up the transfusion was a bad idea.

"But Dr. Curran," Rachel says, shocked. "I'm sure that that's the right blood type."

Curran eyes her carefully. "You're sure?"

Rachel nods and walks over to the transfusion bag, which is still hanging on the pole. She reads the label out loud.

"B-negative, Rh-negative. That's what it said in his file in the database."

Dr. Curran rubs the back of her neck for a moment, her face thoughtful. "Okay," she says. "Just let me check, just to make sure."

She walks over to the other side of the bed, to where another monitor is located. This one has not been used since before Booth and Brennan came into the room and has gone unnoticed until now. Curran turns it on and gives it her whole attention as she touches the screen and navigates through the information.

"What is that?" Booth asks, having stepped back to make room for her. He doesn't want to get in the doctor's way, but he's curious. It's Rachel who answers him, though, so he doesn't have to worry about interrupting the doctor.

"The hospital recently modernized its data system. Hard patient files, in addition to being physical copies, are also stored in a database that can be accessed from anywhere in the hospital. It's very useful, actually. Patients can change rooms, treatments can be changed, anything can change, and there's no confusion."

"Right…" Booth replies with a nod. Something about that sounds sketchy to him, though, and he doesn't realize why until Curran looks up from the monitor.

"Rachel, you were right. It says in his file, B-negative, Rh-negative. I don't understand why the reaction happened, though, if the blood type was correct…"

Brennan nudges Booth in the side. "Booth," she says, eyes wide. "Computer database."

That's all she needs to say for Booth to get the idea.

"Check the hard copy of his file," he says. He sees Curran gesturing to the screen in front of her, but he cuts her off before she can say anything. "I know you've got the digital copy in front of you, doctor, but I really think you should check the hard copy."

Booth looks suddenly resolute, certain.

"I can tell you right now, there's a mistake in that database."

Rather than argue, Curran nods and turns to her intern.

"Hard files are on the first floor. Talk to the receptionist and she'll get it for you."

In less than a minute, Rachel is gone and back again, clutching a thick manila folder to her chest. She hands it to the old doctor, who takes it and quickly leafs through the files.

She looks almost sheepish, embarrassed when she reads it out loud.

"A-positive, Rh-positive. You were right, Agent Booth. The information on the database couldn't be more wrong. I'm so sorry, I had no idea-"

"No, it's not your fault," Booth says. He's very angry now, but no longer angry at the hospital staff.

He leaves the room, mumbling under his breath as he passes through the doorway.

"But I know whose fault it is."


	5. Chapter 5

Booth leans against a corridor wall, just down the hall from Sweets' hospital room. His cell phone is in his hand and he's staring at the blank screen with anticipation. He knows a phone call is coming, and coming soon. A criminal like Pelant does nothing without bragging about it in some way or another.

Booth is not disappointed. As he's running a hand down his face, beginning to wonder how everything came to this situation, he's interrupted by his cell phone ringing. He glances down at the screen and is not surprised to find that there's no number being shown. There's only the word unknown underneath a grey default picture. The phone may not know who the caller is, Booth realizes bitterly, but he sure does.

He wastes no time answering.

"Pelant."

Pelant answers pleasantly. "Agent Booth! I take it you discovered my surprise? I'm glad."

Booth can hear the smile in Pelant's voice and he can feel the smug, condescending attitude. It only serves to make Booth angrier at the hacker on the other end of the phone. He keeps his anger in check, though, as he's used to doing. He keeps the conversation going, his tone cold.

"Clever," he says. "Changing the blood type on record, hacking the machines so they wouldn't go off. Very, very clever."

"Oh, and easy, too!" Pelant goes along with Booth, pretending for the moment that this is just a normal, everyday conversation between two friends, not two enemies. The tension, though, is too thick to pretend away. "You wouldn't believe how easy it was. I won't bore you with details, but it only took a few minutes. It may come as a surprise, but hospitals don't guard their files as intensely as you'd think. Though that's probably just because they don't know how. And the things I could get away with, the things I could do to anyone in that building… Agent Booth, computer hacking is a beautiful thing."

"I thought you weren't a hacker," Booth points out, watching as a nurse passed by with a cart full of equipment. He briefly wonders where it's going, where it's coming from, but decides it doesn't matter. He refocuses on Pelant.

"True. I suppose I'm lowering myself a bit, doing all of this. There's a point to this whole game, though, Agent Booth. Don't forget that. Anyway, I suppose when I'm done with you all, I'll go back to my hacktivism. Or maybe I won't. Maybe I'll find other ways to pass the time. I'm not sure yet."

Booth bites down on his bottom lip, holding back a rebuttal. The threat of finally catching Pelant is one that has already been said and repeated countless times. Though, to Booth, it isn't a threat so much as a promise that he intends to keep. Regardless, both men have not forgotten it.

There's a break in the conversation, a long, empty silence. Booth's eyes dart down the hall and fall on the doorframe of Sweets' room again. Dr. Curran is still in the room, having sent her intern home and called another nurse in help her. Though Booth knows what happened was not even remotely the intern's fault, he still feels more comfortable that a registered nurse is helping the doctor instead. When Booth left the room, Sweets was no longer in any danger of dying. The doctors should just be stabilizing him now, and, judging by the lack of shouting and nurses running about, Booth supposes it's going according to plan.

Booth turns his attention back to the phone with a question that's been nagging at the back of his mind for the past few hours.

"So why Sweets?" Booth asks. He considers elaborating but decides against it. Pelant knows what he means.

"Why Sweets? Well, it wouldn't be much of a game if I didn't play with everyone on your team, now would it? I'll tell you, at first I wasn't sure if anyone else would be as much fun as you and Dr. Brennan. Dr. Hodgins and Ms. Montenegro were pretty entertaining, but Dr. Sweets proved to be very fun to play with as well. Watching him scramble to try and find a pattern, try to find my weak spots. He came close, I'll admit, but just not all the way. Oh, and using those old papers to stage those murders – I think that's my favorite move so far."

"Not to mention sending a shooter after him," Booth interrupts pointedly. He's getting angrier and that anger is showing in his voice now, no matter how much he's trying to hold back. Suddenly, though, a thought strikes him, which brings him to another question.

"Was your goal to kill him?" Booth asks. There's an irritated sigh on the other end.

"Of course not," Pelant answers quickly. "If I wanted Dr. Sweets dead, he'd already be dead."

"Really? Because that's not what I think."

There's a short pause, in which Booth expects Pelant to retort something. The hacker does not, though, so Booth continues.

"I think you were trying to kill him. That was your goal and you failed. And this whole trick, with you hacking the med records, this was just another attempt to kill him, one last shot in the dark. And you failed again. See, all this time, I've just been thinking and wondering why you'd choose to kill Sweets and not frame him for murder or do anything ridiculous like that if you were just trying to mess with him -"

"I can't just try to change things up?" Anything pleasant that was in Pelant's voice before is gone now. His tone is blank, cold, and that's how Booth knows he's right.

"No, not when Sweets is so close to cracking your code," Booth answers confidently, the pun only slightly intended. "You said it yourself, he came close. And he was only going to come closer unless you did something about it. Well, you tried and you failed. You tried again and still failed."

"I did not fail!" Pelant hisses through the phone. He takes a moment to compose himself, takes a deep breath. "I didn't fail, Agent Booth. Because now… now you don't have any idea about what I'm going to do next."

"Really?" Booth says, a smirk on his face even though he knows Pelant can't see it. Or perhaps he can, Booth thinks. There's a security camera attached to the wall on the far side of the hallway. He makes a mental note to make sure there's no camera of any kind in Sweets' room.

"Really," Pelant replies quickly.

"I think you're just improvising now."

"Maybe, but I'm still right. See, you really don't know what I'm going to do next. You can speculate, but that speculation will probably be wrong. Really, I could do anything at this point. So what do you think I'll do? Will I try for a third time to kill Dr. Sweets? Or maybe I'll pay another visit to my good friend, Dr. Hodgins, and that little family of his. Or maybe I'll move on and finish the set, see what the lovely Dr. Saroyan is like to play with. Or maybe… maybe, Agent Booth, I can have another go at you and your lovely fiancée, Dr. Brennan."

Booth tenses and nearly drops his phone. He shouldn't be surprised that Pelant knows about the engagement, but he is. He's surprised that he's surprised.

Pelant continues, speaking with a sort of childlike wonder in his voice now that he's realized how many possibilities there are.

"Or maybe I could do all of these things. Or none. Or just a few. You just don't know. Plus, I could do these things right now. Or I could do them in five minutes. Or five hours, five days, five months. You just don't know!"

Booth takes a deep breath. This conversation is heading in the wrong direction now, which means he has to end it soon.

"I'll find out," he promises. That's all he says and it's all he's going to say for now.

Booth knows Pelant is smirking on the other end of the phone as he says, "Will you?"

And Booth doesn't say a word as he hangs up his phone and puts it back in his pocket.

He bites down on his bottom lip and bows his head as he makes his way back to the hospital room, where the doctor and nurse are just finishing their work. The nurse brushes by Booth with a quiet apology and Dr. Curran begins talking to Booth, keeping her voice down. Booth wonders why she is whispering at first, but glances over to Brennan to find that she's fallen asleep, which answers his question.

"Alright, it was definitely an acute reaction to the incorrect blood, and, again, I'm terribly sorry about that."

Booth holds up a hand, reminding her that it really, really was not her fault.

"I suppose," she agrees with a hesitant look on her face and then goes on. "Well, the good news is that he should be fine. The only thing that may pose an issue would be that the reaction weakened his immune system, which makes the possibility of him developing an infection much greater. We can't increase the medication he's on now, because, at the moment, it's only preventative. However, we will be monitoring him more closely now, so there shouldn't be any problems. If there's any sign of illness, we'll catch it quickly. For now, we also have him on another medication to increase blood pressure. Once it's back to normal, we'll stop the IV. We're also keeping him on oxygen until his breathing returns to normal, which shouldn't be very long. In short, he'll be fine."

Booth nods and cracks a smile, thanking her for a second time that evening for helping Sweets, to which the doctor replies, "It's really my pleasure."

"Yeah, I'm glad," Booth says. "Now, while I've got you here – I know I might be jumping forward too much, but do you have any idea how long it will be before he'll be able to leave the hospital?"

Honestly, it's not just distaste for hospitals that's making him ask this question. Pelant's words about being able to do anything, especially about the possibility of a third attempt on Sweets' life, are starting to really get to him. There's a part of him that's thinking that it was all an empty threat, but he thinks – Is Pelant really the type of guy to make empty threats? He doesn't even need Sweets to tell him that no, he's not. Pelant's proven already that can and will do anything. The hospital has already proven to be vulnerable, and Booth has reason to be nervous.

The doctor chuckles and answers pleasantly, "No, you're not jumping too forward, Agent Booth. It's a good question. In spite of this evening's challenges, I think that the shot wound has probably just begun to heal. I or another doctor will take a look at it and we might be able to take him off the sedatives in the morning, maybe a bit later. It depends. Once we have him off the sedatives, it will take awhile for him to wake up. Unfortunately, I don't see him being able to leave for a long while. The organ and muscle damage caused by the shot will cause a lot of pain, so he may not be physically capable of leaving."

Booth nods, a bit disappointed in what he is hearing. The idea of Sweets being in that much pain is certainly not one he likes, but on the other hand, the idea of him staying in the hospital is one he likes even less. He considers for a moment checking Sweets out anyway, regardless of what Dr. Curran is saying, and decides it's not such a terrible idea. He doesn't want Sweets to be in pain, of course, but if it comes down to having him in pain and having him dead, Booth knows which one he'd choose in a heartbeat. It doesn't make him feel any better about it, though.

"Yeah," he says. "But, say for instance he was capable of leaving. Or if he were able to leave with assistance. He would be able to recover at home, right? If there are people around to help?"

The doctor furrows her eyebrows and thinks this over for a few seconds.

"I mean… I suppose so. If he wants to leave, and he does have people around to watch for any complications or anything, then I guess that would be alright. I would like for him to stay for at least two or three days, though, so we can watch for infection. I should warn you – recovery from an abdominal shot is a long, difficult task. We could be talking weeks, months, before he's up and about again. I just want to make sure you know that."

Booth nods again. "I understand, thank you. I think he'll probably want to leave, so as long as it's all cleared with you all, he can leave in a few days?"

Curran nods and eyes him with a mother-like stare. "Yes. But if there's even one problem, I expect to see him right back here. Alright?"

Booth smiles. "That sounds reasonable. Thank you very much, Dr. Curran."

"Like I said, my pleasure."

The doctor goes to leave the room before turning back toward Booth.

"It's almost kind of funny, don't you think? After all of this, I think he's still our miracle patient. Most people would have died from the shot, and then if they hadn't, the blood reaction would definitely have killed them. I'm starting to think nothing can really take him down completely."

She leaves the room with a smile on her face.

Booth goes over and sits next to Brennan. After gently pushing a piece of hair out of her face, he leans forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees, and stares at Sweets for a few minutes. He's still fast asleep, his face completely calm and relaxed. He has no idea what's gone on this evening, and Booth is almost glad for that. Sweets' sleep may be medically induced, but it's still fairly worry-free.

Booth smiles and thinks over what Dr. Curran said, deciding that she's right. One hundred percent, completely right.

"Yeah," Booth says quietly. "Yeah, he's a fighter."


	6. Chapter 6

Booth and Brennan ended up staying in the hospital overnight, in spite of the fact that it's against hospital guidelines for visitors to stay in the ICU past visiting hours. They both put up a substantial argument. Once Brennan pointed out that there had already been a severe error that could have cost Sweets his life, and that it would have cost him his life had they not been there, the hospital staff reluctantly allowed them to stay.

They both fell asleep late in the evening and awoke in the morning to find that nothing has drastically changed overnight. Everything is fine. Well, as fine as it could be. Sweets is still next to them, still alive, still breathing. One glance at the monitor on the right tells them both that the effects of last night's fiasco were not lasting, and this morning's lack of the fourth needle in Sweets' arm confirmed what the monitors said. They figure a doctor must have come in some time this morning and removed the IV with hypotension medication. The cannula, however, is still in his nose, but Brennan has a feeling that it will also be coming off soon. His breathing is much better than it was last night, nearly back to normal. They're pleased with what they're seeing.

A doctor comes into the room a few minutes later. It's not Dr. Curran, but a younger man who introduces himself as Dr. Kendrick and holds himself with a calm air and a quiet, respectful tone.

"Hi," he says with a polite smile. "I'm here to check his injury to see if we can take him off the sedatives and give him a quick examination. If you could kindly step outside, please, I'll get right to work."

Brennan nods and leaves the room without an issue. Booth, on the other hand, hesitates as soon as he reaches the door. He's a bit wary of leaving Sweets alone, even with a doctor, and he realizes that his conversation with Pelant has left him a bit paranoid. The threats are still fresh in Booth's mind, and he's really starting to get nervous. He's only just met this doctor, and while he seems kind and sincere enough, Booth is still hesitant to leave the room. Part of him is aware that he's probably being irrational, but another part doesn't care because if anything happens to Sweets, it will be his fault entirely. It's his job to protect the people he cares about and, thus far, it's a job he's been good at. He'll be damned if he starts slipping today.

He turns toward Kendrick and asks, "Excuse me, how long do you think this should take?"

"Not long," the doctor answers with a kind smile. "Maybe ten to fifteen minutes, maybe a bit longer. I'll try to be as quick as I can."

Booth nods and slowly exits the room. He closes the door gently, as is the doctor's quick request, but leaves it open just a tiny crack. It's not doing much, but leaving the door ajar makes it a bit easier to hear and makes Booth a bit more comfortable.

Booth turns to find Brennan staring at him strangely.

"Are you alright?" she asks.

Booth nods. "Yeah, yeah," he answers, a bit too quickly for Brennan's liking.

"Okay, now tell me what's going on."

Booth sighs, but has a slight smile on his face because, no matter what, she can see right through him.

"I talked to Pelant last night," he says slowly, eyeing her carefully.

She replies, "I figured you did. You were gone for awhile, so I figured he called."

Booth nods and begins to recount his story, occasionally glancing around to make sure they aren't being watched. The camera on the opposite wall is facing the other way, but Booth just has to make sure it stays that way. He tells Brennan everything, about Pelant's reason for trying to kill Sweets, about him knowing about the engagement, about all of the threats, everything. By the time he finishes talking, Brennan is looking down at the floor, but then she looks back up at Booth.

"This is bad," she says. Booth does not disagree. He explains why he's hesitant to leave the room completely, and Brennan completely understands.

They decide that at least one of them should stay next to the door until the doctor is done, just in case. So Booth stays there first, giving Brennan a few minutes to use the bathroom and get something to eat from a vending machine, and then they switch.

When Booth comes back, he finds the door open completely and Brennan no longer standing outside. He glances at the time on his phone, almost surprised but definitely relieved that the time has passed. He walks into the room and finds the doctor gone from the room and Brennan sitting calmly in her chair again with a content expression on her face.

"The doctor took Sweets off the sedatives," she says happily. "And everything looks fine."

Booth smiles and sits beside her. Looking around, he decides that everything does seem okay, safe. He decides that Brennan is right. For the first time since they entered the hospital, everything is really starting to look just fine.

\---------------------------------

It takes another day or so for Sweets to actually wake up. In the meantime, Booth and Brennan switch off with Angela and Hodgins and Cam for what they've come to call watch-duty; even though it's not exactly a duty so much as something they're all more than willing to do. Plus, it's a simple task. All they really do is sit with Sweets and keep an eye out for anything strange. In essence, they keep him safe.

The day goes by with everyone slightly on edge. Brennan has passed Booth's story on to everyone, and she's warned them to keep their guards up. They've all agreed not to communicate through any technology whatsoever, and every time they do talk, they all check around for cameras or anything that can be used to watch them. At first, they all wonder if they are being too paranoid; but then they decide that no, they certainly are not. It's a dangerous game they're playing, and they really can't be too careful.

Anyway, the day goes by. It's soon evening once again, and everyone but Booth has left. Brennan hesitantly decided to go home a bit earlier to take care of Christine, not wanting to put too much work on Angela and Hodgins, who Brennan knows are tired enough already. Before leaving, though, she made Booth promise to update her if anything changes.

Now, Booth is calmly sitting in the same chair as last night, one leg crossed over the other. He's got a short stack of paperwork from this whole case resting on the seat next to him and he's in the process of getting it all done, page by page. He's about halfway through right now, working on an extended summary of the case. He writes about the original murders, about the victims. He writes about Anna originally being termed a witness under a false name, and then about her becoming the shooter. He writes about Sweets being one of two FBI casualties and he's pleased to write the words expected to make full recovery underneath. He'd rather write guaranteed than expected, of course, but that's not an option. He's only allowed to write expected or not expected. He really can only expect, only speculate.

He finishes that page and moves right to the next. He only gets about halfway through the next sheet, though, before a sound and movement in the room grab his attention. He looks up to see Sweets, who has just grunted softly and is slowly moving a hand to his face, his eyes still closed.

Booth smiles and sets his papers down.

"Hey, Sweets," he says, almost conversational, as if the two of them are back at the FBI building and Booth is stopping by Sweets' office to say hello. Not, of course, that he's ever done that (on the record, at least).

Sweets, obviously confused, opens his eyes and turns his head toward Booth. His eyes seem to widen and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"Booth?" he says, pressing his elbows down against the bed in an attempt to push himself up.

Booth starts to answer when he realizes what Sweets is trying to do and is up from his seat in a second.

"Wait, wait, wait!" he almost shouts as he rushes to stop Sweets from aggravating his injury. He's a second too late, though, and by the time he makes it to the side of the bed, Sweets' back is already several inches off the bed. He's stopped trying to push himself up, though, as he's realizing that it was a bad idea.

As Sweets gasps in pain and screws his eyes shut, Booth places his hand on Sweets' shoulder. Sweets cusses a few times, his voice slightly hitched, and Booth helps to lower him down slowly, trying his best not to aggravate anything further. Once he's fairly confident that everything seems to be alright, he smiles.

"Very classy," he says, referencing the choice language that Sweets just chose to use.

Sweets, eyes still closed, crosses his arms over his midsection. There's a hint of a smile on his face as replies, "Aah, shut up."

Booth chuckles quietly and Sweets goes on.

"Wow, that was not a good idea," he says, opening his eyes again.

"Well, duh," Booth replied lightly, an almost-incredulous look on his face. "Got yourself pretty banged up there."

"I did?" was the response. At first, Booth thought Sweets was going to continue with something sarcastic, but he didn't. Instead, he continued with, "What did I do?"

Booth pauses for a second, wondering for a moment if Sweets somehow got amnesia or if he just can't remember because he's been asleep for so long. Booth decides the latter option is more likely and chooses that one to work with.

"Don't remember? Eh, I guess you've been asleep awhile, so…" Booth pauses again, this time wondering if he should tell Sweets what happened. Booth's no psychologist, but couldn't there be a possibility of emotional trauma? He's heard that – from army doctors, old veterans. Regardless, he tells Sweets anyway. He has a feeling the younger man would probably start to worry if he wasn't told soon.

"Remember Alison? The witness who we were going to talk to about -"

Sweets' eyes go wide for just a second. "Right!" he says. "Right. I think I remember now…"

Booth watches Sweets for a few moments as the younger man looks up to the ceiling. After the few moments of recollection, Sweets speaks again, looking at Booth.

"She shot me, right? In the traffic jam."

Booth bites down lightly on his tongue, staring at Sweets. He looks him in the eyes, only to find that the younger man is not nearly as traumatized as Booth expected him to be. There was no fear or blankness in his eyes, only a slight curiosity. Sweets' head, Booth supposes with a small bit of pride, must be as tough as the rest of him is.

Booth nods. "Yeah, she did."

And then, just to make sure, he continues with, "Are you okay – with all of this? You good?"

Sweets smiles slightly.

"Yeah," he says, a slight twitch in his shoulder that would have to pass for a shrug for now. He can't exactly move all of his muscles yet without remembering why he's in the hospital in the first place. "I'm good. I'm pretty sure I'm alive, right?"

Booth looks down at the floor and nods once, twice.

"Yeah," he replies somewhat darkly. "Yeah, you are. Came pretty damn close to not being alive, though. Shot in the stomach, a nasty one to get treatment for. Plus, I've been told the stomach acid basically fried your insides, even more nasty. And don't even get me started on all the crap that went down after that…"

That right there – that's about as close to an admission of fear as Booth's going to give. It's somewhat subtle, well disguised, but still there.

Sweets looks a bit confused.

"I might have to get you started – what do you mean? What happened?"

Booth chuckles.

"That I will tell you later," he says. Sweets looks about to argue, but Booth stops him. "Nah, see, you're going to get some sleep first. Really, you still look like hell."

And he is right. In spite of being off the sedatives, Sweets' injuries are still far from healed. He's still somewhat pale, with dark circles beginning for form underneath his eyes. And honestly, he really is tired. On one hand, he wants to hear about everything that he missed; but on the other, this whole conversation has left him exhausted. Plus, his earlier attempt to sit up hasn't done him any good either. Besides, he figures that whatever Booth has to say would probably be forgotten if he were to tell him now. He's that tired.

Reluctantly, he concedes. Booth smiles, no doubt because he won. Regardless, he doesn't say anything. Instead, he walks back to his chair and sits, picks his papers back up off the other chair, and goes back to them. Now he really want to go back to that last page and write guaranteed to make full recovery in that box because he's almost completely sure it's true. But he restrains himself. He continues working from where he left off, only pausing when he hears Sweets' voice again.

"Hey, Booth?" he says, turning his head to face the agent.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For… saving my life. Thank you."

Booth pauses, turning this over in his head for a few moments.

"Nah. See, you thanking me sort of implies that it was a bother to me, or that I wouldn't have done it otherwise. It also implies that I had a bigger part in it than I did. Because I'll be honest – most of it wasn't me."

Sweets eyes him with confusion. He's sure that it was Booth who was there in the street with him that day. Of course it was Booth who saved his life. Who else could it be?

"No, I think it was mostly you," Booth finishes. Both men avert their eyes from each other and become quiet. Sweets considers insisting that it was Booth, thanking him anyway, but he figures it wouldn't work. Instead, he thinks about what Booth said.

He turns it over and over in his head until he falls asleep.

And Booth, he just continues working on his paperwork with the slightest of smiles on his face. He goes back to a previous page, and he may or may not be crossing out a previous answer. He may or may not be writing guaranteed full recovery, even though it's not an option, because he knows it's completely, one hundred percent certain.

He takes a deep breath and sighs quietly.

Of course a full recovery is guaranteed. Sweets has made it this far already, defying nearly everything that could have killed him. He'll go the rest of the way, Booth is sure.

It's guaranteed.


	7. Chapter 7

Three days and several physical exams later, Sweets is being checked out of the hospital. Not exactly on his own, mind you, but still. He's leaving, even though it's against the advice of every single doctor on the floor. He's still far from being even remotely healed, but he's glad to go, nevertheless. He's relieved.

After Booth told him about everything that happened after he was shot, Sweets readily agreed to leave the hospital. It's all rather ironic, he knows – the fact that a hospital has become a danger zone in this war they're fighting. A place where someone should feel safe, secure, has now become a place where you need to watch your back, watch for cameras, watch for everything. It seems that every place has become a danger zone, really. Except, perhaps, for everyone's homes.

Well, perhaps their homes are a bit more vulnerable than they used to be. Still, Booth figures, home is much safer than a hospital right now. Especially for Sweets, though the younger man's not exactly keen on staying with Booth and Brennan again, as was unanimously decided by everyone except for Sweets.

_"No, really, I'll be fine – I stayed with you guys for too long last time, and it's no problem for me to go home, so -"_

"Okay, Sweets, they must have given you too many painkillers, because you're delusional if you think for a second that we're letting you go home…."

He's still hesitant to stay with them, in spite of their incessant reminders that he shouldn't be. He's just afraid of becoming a burden for the two. It's very real possibility, considering that, to his frustration, he's still unable to walk or even sit upright without help.

It seems that he doesn't have much of a choice in the matter, though.

Right now, he's technically checked out of the hospital. He's just not physically out yet. Instead, he's lying flat on his back on top of the hospital bed, tiredly staring up at the ceiling, waiting for someone to walk in, waiting for something to happen. He's also moping, just a bit.

It could be because of the pain that the painkillers haven't entirely killed, or because of the boredom as he waits, but he finds himself silently asking why this had to happen to him. Why did he have to get shot? Why did Pelant choose him to mess with this time? What made Pelant choose any of them? He can't exactly find an answer, and that's probably the most frustrating thing about all of this: the fact that Pelant dragged them all into his sick game without reason. The fact that he nearly died a pointless death on a crowded street.

He's not bitter, though. He's just… Okay, maybe he is a little bitter. But he has reason to be.

He doesn't have much more time to think about this, though, because soon Booth is walking in with a nurse in tow.

"Alright, rise and shine, Sweets!" he says, knowing full well that the kid has been fully awake and waiting for the last ten minutes. "Time to get out of here."

"Awesome," Sweets replies, tilting his head a bit to look at the people coming into the room. He half-smiles at Booth as the agent enters, but he has to work to keep his face from falling too far as he sees the nurse come in, pushing a wheelchair in front of her. His dignity shutters for a moment.

Of course a wheelchair, he thinks to himself. How did I think I was leaving?

"Okay, ready?" Booth asks, a hand on Sweets' shoulder as the younger man nods. "Alright, let's go."

Carefully, Booth takes Sweets by the arm and helps him up into a sitting position, trying his best to ignore Sweets' pained grunt in an attempt to salvage some of the man's dignity. The nurse locks the wheelchair in place and moves to support Sweets' other side and she and Booth help him into the chair, the movement making him cry out softly. As soon as he is set, Booth gently claps his hand on his shoulder.

"Sorry, you alright?" he asks.

Sweets nods, though he's looking down at the floor, and answers quietly. "Yeah."

He keeps his head down the entire time as the nurse wheels him out of the hospital, partly because he's still reeling from being moved and doesn't want anyone to see him screwing his eyes shut and biting his bottom lip, but mostly because he's embarrassed and doesn't want anyone to see him at all. It's a bit of an irrational feeling, he thinks, because people get wheeled out of hospitals all the time and usually no one looks twice. Still – he's not used to it, and that feeling makes him want to become invisible, if only for the next few minutes.

It hardly matters, though, because the trip is short. He's soon outside, looking up at a waiting transport vehicle. He can't help the irritated sigh he makes this time as he sees it and drops his head again.

"Seriously?" he whispers, mostly to himself.

"Hey, don't worry about it," Booth says, suddenly right next to him. "It'll be over before you know it."

Sweets just nods minutely and hopes Booth is right.

\---------------------------

Brennan and Booth are sitting in the living room, now, Christine in between them on the sofa. The television is on, turned to a news report about how the city is still searching for the cause of the chaos four days ago. The newscasters are speculating random things, like faulty wires, operation errors, lapses of power. Somehow, that seems to be enough of an answer for the city full of people who aren't searching for answers so much as excuses to go back to their daily lives without worry. It hardly matters, though. Even if the public knew everything, they wouldn't need to worry. Pelant doesn't care about the public – just about the Jeffersonian team. He cares about winning his twisted game, nothing more. Nothing less.

Dissatisfied with the whole pointless newscast, Booth reaches for the remote and mutes the volume. He turns to Christine and pulls her into his lap as Brennan looks up from a page of notes that a doctor was kind enough to type up for them before they checked Sweets out of the hospital.

"He should be in a hospital," she says. "He needs doctors."

Booth nods as he bites the inside of his cheek.

"I know," he says.

Brennan continues, "What if we make a mistake? Or something goes wrong? We're not equipped to handle an emergency."

"I know," Booth says. "But we just –"

"I know we have no other choice," Brennan cuts him off and then continues after a short pause. "I just wish we did."

Booth nods in agreement and turns back to the muted television set, the news program having switched from the headlines to the weather report. The forecast warns of scattered storms throughout the next few days which will soon clear up as the weather returns to normal. Booth pays this little mind, though, as he stares at the screen and absentmindedly strokes his daughter's hair.

Brennan sighs softly and stands from the couch.

"It's been about an hour," she murmurs, gesturing to the sheet of paper and folding it in half. Neither of them says anything else as she leaves the room, headed for Parker's bedroom, where their resident shrink is once again becoming resident.

After climbing the stairs and walking through the hallway, she knocks lightly on the door out of habit before walking into the room, realizing that she probably won't hear a response anyway. True to her assumption, Sweets is silent, fast asleep, as he's been for the past few hours. His breathing is even and his face is calm, though his arms are loosely crossed over his abdomen in what looks like a slightly defensive position.

Brennan walks over to the side of the bed, just in front of the nightstand where a pill case of painkillers sits by the edge, next to a mostly-filled bottle of water with the cap only half-screwed on. She pulls open the nightstand drawer, fishes around for a roll of tape, and tapes her page of notes to the wall so it can easily be seen.

She then takes a good look at her sleeping friend and decides that she doesn't want to risk waking him; however, she will anyway. She forces herself to look around for the thermometer she could swear was on the nightstand an hour ago. When she doesn't find it, she almost gives in to herself and leaves Sweets to sleep undisturbed for a little while longer, but she knows she can't. She knows, just as Booth knows, that they can't afford not to be as attentive as they can possibly be. They can't afford mistakes. So she settles for using her forearm for now, at least until she can find the thermometer.

As gently as she can, she rolls her long sleeve up to her elbow and touches the inside of her wrist to Sweets' forehead. She holds her breath, then, as he stirs slightly, tilting his head to the side and then back again. As she slowly lets her breath out, she notes that his temperature feels normal. She removes her hand and decides that this is good enough for now, that she'll wait awhile before finding the thermometer. Just a few minutes, though, of course.

"I'm sorry this happened," she suddenly says. It's quiet, more to herself than to Sweets, but it's just as well. It's not directed at him, though she's sure she'll find herself repeating the phrase to him in the weeks to come. She sighs slightly and turns her head away, glancing around the room.

"It should never have happened," she continues. "But you'll get better, you'll see. We'll all get better. And then we will catch Pelant, because he's not going to get away with everything he's done. He won't get away with the murders. He won't get away with framing me, with draining Hodgin's accounts. And he will certainly not be getting away with hurting you. And after Pelant is gone, everything will return to the way it was before we found those bones in the museum. Well, almost everything. You know what I mean."

She knows that Sweets would know exactly what she means, if he were awake to hear it. She imagines for a moment the young shrink nodding his head in empathy, as he always does, eyes open and alert as he promises that he understands. Instead, though, she's surprised to hear a slight rustling and a sleepy voice next to her.

She turns her head right back to look at Sweets, who has turned his head to look at her with his eyes only half-open.

"Hmm?" he hums quietly.

Brennan smiles softly, telling him that everything's fine and that he should go back to sleep. As Sweets' eyes slip closed again without a word, she finds herself believing that everything really is fine. Or, at least, the closest to fine they've been since Sweets was shot. Regardless, things are starting to look up.

As quietly as she can, she walks into the hallway and pulls the door closed behind her before going downstairs to join her fiance and daughter in the living room.

They'll get past this, she knows. She has absolutely no doubt in her mind that they will. They'll get past this and anything other challenge that comes their way in the future because if there's any team in the world that can come out on top, it's them. She knows it. Booth knows it. Sweets knows it. Angela, Hodgins, and Cam all know it.

And soon, Pelant will definitely know it.


	8. Chapter 8

** Two Months Later **

Lance Sweets walks down the stairs in his home slowly, almost sideways, with both hands gripping the banister. He's trying to reach the bottom with the least amount of pain because, as he recently found out, using the stairs requires much more use of the abdominal muscles than he previously thought. It's not so bad, though. It was worse when he'd just started walking around again. Now, after a few weeks, it's much more tolerable.

He reaches the bottom of the stairs and walks into the kitchen, where he's genuinely surprised to find one of his roommates, Janet, still in the house at ten in the morning on a Wednesday.

"Good morning!" she says cheerfully.

"Hey," he greets her with a smile as he moves away from the doorway and into the room. He notices that the kitchen table is completely set, with a stack of pancakes on a plate in the center and two places set side by side by the edge. He looks over at Janet, who's grinning ear to ear, and gestures toward the table settings. "What's…?"

"I made breakfast!" she answers happily. Then, noticing his slight confusion, she explains. "A pipe broke on my floor in the clinic. Most of the offices are flooded and they said it should be a day or two before everything's cleaned up. And since I'm here and have time, why not eat an actual breakfast for once?"

Sweets chuckles, thinking about the mornings when all three of them would wake up late and rush out the door, each filling a travel mug with bitter instant coffee before they left and grabbing something small to eat in the car. Those mornings became a routine over time, but they all still manage to make it to work every day. Well, as of late, all of them except for Sweets, who's been on a leave of absence since being shot. And today, all of them except for Sweets and Janet; which is really just Chrissy.

Janet starts putting a few pancakes onto her plate and gestures for Sweets to come to the table. "Come on, sit down! Have some."

Slowly, he obeys and sits down, reaching for a fork and placing a single pancake in his plate. He's not really hungry, but Janet was considerate enough to make breakfast for the two of them. The very least he could do is eat some of it. So he picks at it. And, luckily, Janet doesn't say anything about it. Not that he expects her to say anything, though. He hasn't been eating much lately anyway, and even though he's lost a bit of weight over the past two months because of that, she and Chrissy haven't been pushy about it. He's beyond grateful for that. About other things, though…

"So," Janet starts after swallowing a bite of her breakfast. "I know you didn't just wake up. How long have you been working up there?"

She gestures up to the second floor and Sweets hangs his head with a smile.

"About an hour," he replies.

Janet sighs. "Weren't all your patients referred to other therapists?"

He nods.

"And there are no new cases because you're on leave," she continues. "So what can you possibly be working on that's so important?"

Sweets brings his head back up to look at her and grins. "I'm just tying up some loose ends."

Janet sighs. "Come on, you've been working since you came home. What kind of 'loose ends' take that long to finish?"

"Really long ones?" he tries, and he's met with another irritated sigh from his roommate.

"Fine, don't tell me. You're just going to slow down your own recovery if you keep working, though. You know, stress and all that."

Neither of them says anything else for a few minutes. Janet continues to eat her breakfast and Sweets continues to pick at his, staring down at his plate and thinking about how he can never say anything about the Pelant case until it's finished, no matter how much it annoys his roommates that he won't confide in them. He can't confide in them. Telling them would put them in danger, and they don't deserve to be dragged into Pelant's twisted game. Really, no one involved deserved to be dragged into it. But since they were, Sweets figures that the collateral damage should be kept to a minimum. Therefore, he tells no one about the case.

Janet won't let it drop so easily, though.

"So, what?" she asks calmly once she's finished eating. "Do you feel that, because you were so directly affected by the case, you have to help finish it? Maybe you feel some misplaced guilt about being shot, or frustration about your inactivity, and -"

Sweets looks at Janet with a strange expression.

"Hey, don't psychoanalyze me," he says with a laugh.

She smiles. "Sorry."

"And that's not it," he clarifies as he stands up from his chair and starts to help clear the table. After a few minutes, everything is clean and the two are standing by the table, facing each other as Sweets continues. "This whole case, it's like a puzzle. A huge puzzle. And I think I have a big part of it solved, but there's another big part that I'm missing. It's the most important part, and I have no clue what it is. I just have to solve the puzzle. That's all."

Janet eyes him carefully for a few seconds and sighs.

"Fine. Just… don't overdo it too much, okay?"

Sweets smiles at her and answers, "Of course."

"Okay," she says as she walks over to the front door and grabs her bag from a coat hook on the wall. "Glad that's settled. Now, I'm going to go run some errands. Do you need anything while I'm out?"

He shakes his head and she leaves.

As soon as she's gone, he sighs in relief as he sits back down at the table and puts his head in his hands. He's almost completely sure that this is the first lie he's ever gotten away with, even if it isn't such a big one. Most of what he told Janet was true, of course, except for the fact that he does feel guilty and he does feel frustrated. Just not for the reasons she speculated.

He feels guilty, not because he was shot, but because of all the murders that were based off of his papers. He feels frustrated because he wasn't able to follow Pelant's moves, even though he should have been able to. He feels guilty because he has files on his computer with information about every one of his friends that ever came to him for formal counseling, and now Pelant has access to them. He feels completely frustrated and angry because, after everything, he still can't figure out what the missing piece is to Pelant's big puzzle. (Okay, and maybe Janet is a little bit right. Maybe part of it is the inactivity, because he can't really do anything other than focus on Pelant, and he's not even doing a good job with that at the moment anyway. That would make anyone frustrated.)

He runs his fingers through his hair and says to himself, This will pass. It has to end eventually. And that thought is almost enough to placate him, until he gives it some more thought. Yes, it will pass. Yes, it will eventually end. But how many more people will have to die before it does?

The ideal answer would be "none." The realistic answer, though, is a bit different. It's open ended, and it's a testament to how far behind Pelant they all are.

He sighs.

He does need to give his head a break, he knows that. It's not healthy for him to obsess over the case, and if he burns himself out so soon, he'll be useless by the time he's cleared to go back to work.

After a bit of thought, he decides to give it a rest for awhile. Take a break. So he gets up from the table and walks into the living room, grabs a movie from the shelf and pops it into the DVD player. He sits down on the couch, then, and just enjoys the movie for awhile.

Except, he doesn't make it half an hour into the movie before his cell phone starts ringing.

After fishing it out of his pocket, he answers it without checking to see who it is.

"Hello?" he says as he grabs the remote and pauses the movie.

"Hey, Sweets!" Booth's voice echoed through the phone. "Just the guy I was looking for!"

Sweets smiles. "I kinda figured, since you called me."

"Yeah, well," Booth grumbles. "Anyway, I was wondering if you could do an on-the-spot profile really quick. Just a cursory thing so I have a general idea?"

Sweets nods, even though he knows Booth can't see him, and says he'll try his best. After a quick description of the case, he thinks for a few moments and gives the quickest profile he's ever given and that's all the talking they do about the case. Booth changes the subject after that.

"So how are you doing?" he asks.

"Me? I'm good," Sweets answers happily. He's telling the whole truth this time. "Stitches are almost completely dissolved and I have my last PT visit on Friday. Should be back to work in a week or so."

"Half-days?"

"Probably. I think it's the doctor's decision."

"Oh, okay," Booth says. "Well, can't wait to see you back."

Sweets replies with a quick thanks and wishes him luck on the case and then the conversation is over. After he hangs up, he slips his phone back into his pocket and gets back to his movie.

\------------------------------

On the other end of the line, Booth hangs up and shoves his phone back into his pocket. He hears a throat clear behind him and turns to find Hodgins, who is carefully holding a Petri dish close to his chest and cracking half a smile and looks like he's been there for a few minutes.

"May I help you?" Booth asks, sounding a bit rude but knowing that the scientist wouldn't interpret it that way. Hodgins just stands there grinning.

"I thought you already got a formal profile from some other FBI shrink."

"I did," Booth replies easily. "Just confirming."

Hodgins just raises one eyebrow and stares at Booth, who smiles and rolls his eyes just a little bit.

"Keeping him sharp, Hodgins. Keeping him sharp."

That stupid grin doesn't leave Hodgins' face as he says, "I see that." He turns away from Booth, then, and walks into the lab with his findings. Not thirty seconds after that, Brennan walks out of the room, pulling off her latex gloves as she walks and tossing them into the nearest trash can. They greet each other.

As soon as Brennan removes her lab coat and hangs it on a peg in her office, she and Booth leave the Jeffersonian and drive to the diner for lunch. There, they talk about the case. They talk about their engagement. They talk about Christine. They talk about Sweets. They talk about everything. And as they finish their meal, it is unanimously decided by the two of them that life is almost normal again. Things are good. Things are great. And, as long as no curveballs get thrown their way, that's how it's going to stay for a long while.

And when Pelant does decide to show his face again, he'd better watch out. Because the Jeffersonian team is ready for anything he has planned, and they're more determined than ever before to catch him. And they will catch him.

It's guaranteed.

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Originally posted on FF.net: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/9254484/1/The-Shot-at-the-Target
> 
> Updates will be on there first, as I can't guarantee that I'll remember to post it here. ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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